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I wonder what spendthrift chose to spill Such bright gold under my window-sill! Is it fairy gold? Does it glitter still? Bless me! it is but a daffodil! And look at the crocus keeping tryst With the daffodil by the sunshine kissed. Like beautiful bubbles of amethyst They seem, blown out of the earth's snow-mist. And snowdrops' delicate fairy bells With a pale green tint like the ocean swells; And the hyacinths wearing their perfumed spells! The ground is a rainbow of asphodels! Who said that March was a scold and a shrew? Who said she had nothing on earth to do But tempest of fairies and rags to brew? Why, look at the wealth she has lavished on you! O March that blusters and March that blows, What color under your footsteps glows! Beauty you summon from winter snows, And you are the pathway that leads to the rose. |